


Bad Intentions

by bitscrawford



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:58:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3942790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitscrawford/pseuds/bitscrawford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come home with me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Intentions

“Go.” It’s Bellamy, words slightly slurred, his hand on the small of her back.

“What?”

“Stop staring at the brunette behind the bar like you’re wondering what she tastes like and go find out.” Her cheeks flush a dark red and she shoves at Bellamy’s shoulder; when he’d agreed to be her wingman for the night, she hadn’t expected him to be quite so eager. He just chuckles and gives her a gentle shove through the crowd. “You’ll thank me tomorrow!”

She gives him the finger behind her back just as she gets to the bar, her mouth suddenly dry. When the brunette in question stands in front of Clarke, a dirty rag slung over her shoulder, a few strands of hair falling from her ponytail and sticking to her sweaty neck, it takes Clarke a second to make the words come out.

“Vodka cranberry, please?”

The bartender fixes it in record time. Clarke drinks over half of it before setting it down, a hand coming up to run through her already-tousled blonde curls. She has no idea how to start this. She hasn’t hit on a girl in a bar in years.

“That your boyfriend?” Apparently, she doesn’t have to start. The girl behind the bar does it for her, eyes dark as she quirks an eyebrow in Clarke’s direction.

She just shakes her head. “Best friend. Has been since grade school.” She uses the thin straw to stir her drink aimlessly, leaning against the bar to hear her better. There’s really no need to clarify, but she feels like doing it anyway. “I didn’t come here with anyone.” She’s not interested in being subtle; not tonight. The corners of the bartender’s lips quirk upward.

They flirt on and off for 20 minutes when Clarke mutters a quick _“come home with me.”_ She’s maybe had a few too many. She takes another sip of her drink anyway.

The other girl just laughs, leans across the bar, and tucks a stray piece of hair behind Clarke’s ear. “Can’t. I don’t get off for another couple hours.”

Clarke chews on her bottom lip, considers her words carefully before speaking this time. “Do you get a break?” When the brunette nods, Clarke closes the distance between them and presses a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You should take it. Like, now.”

The bartender considers her a moment, gives her a slow once-over, and nods. She calls out to a guy named Miller, tells him to cover for her while she takes her break, and discards the dirty rag.

She turns back to Clarke, grins, braces her palms on the bar, and lifts her body weight. The way the muscles in her arms ripple is so impressive, it makes a ball of want form in Clarke’s tummy, soft and warm. With her ass on the bar, the brunette spins, slides her body down so her feet touch the ground. Suddenly, she’s standing between Clarke and the bar, her hands on Clarke’s hips.

It’s a real kiss this time, one that threatens to make her knees go weak, tastes like tequila and lime. Clarke hates tequila, but she really likes this kiss.

And then she’s being pulled toward a door, the cold air of the alley behind the building making goosebumps rise on her skin. “Hi.”

The bartender crowds her against the wall, presses her body against Clarke’s, and kisses her hard. “Hey.” She grins. “I only have 15 minutes, can I go down on you?”

Clarke swears. “We only have 15 minutes and that’s what you wanna do?” She’s met with a nod and a dirty smirk, which - yeah, okay. She looks around for a second before lifting her skirt, thumbs hooking into sides of her panties and pulling them down.

It’s only when the brunette is on her knees and licking a hard line from her cunt to her clit that Clarke realizes. “Wait.” The other girl pulls away, a tiny furrow in her brow. It would be cute if she wasn’t looking up at Clarke from between her thighs, tanned skin of her face a clear contrast to the soft, pale skin surrounding it. “What’s your name again?”

The bartender laughs. “Raven.”

She nods. “I’m Clarke.”

“Nice to meet you, Clarke.” The bartender - Raven - presses a quick kiss to her clit before speaking again. “You taste fantastic.”

“Thanks.” It comes out breathless and dangerously close to a whimper, her head falling back and crashing into the brick wall of the bar. She’s too busy spreading her legs wider, fingers pulling the ponytail from Raven’s hair and tangling in the thick, soft strands, to care about the dull ache in her skull. “More.”

“Demanding,” Raven murmurs, but she complies, tongue and lips and teeth working against her, making obscene noises that make Clarke whine, a hand coming up to cover her mouth so no one can hear.

Raven presses a finger into her and Clarke clenches around it, the flush from her cheeks no doubt spreading down her neck and covering her chest. “God, I’m gonna - ”

Before she can finish, Raven is adding another finger, expertly sucking on her clit and looking up at her through hooded eyes. That’s really all it takes, and Clarke is coming, walls fluttering around Raven’s fingers and thighs shaking, the hot static noise of her orgasm flooding her senses.

And then: “I’ve gotta get back to work.” Raven’s busy putting her hair up into a ponytail again. Her mouth and chin are still wet. It makes Clarke shiver, so she closes the distance between them and kisses the brunette again, her breath stuttering in her chest when she tastes herself on Raven’s tongue. Raven bends and picks up Clarke’s panties, shoves them deep into the pocket of her skinny jeans. “I’m keeping these.” She’s smirking, and Clarke can’t even be mad.

Raven pulls out her phone and hands it to Clarke. “Put your number in there.” It’s not a question. Clarke does what she’s told, snapping a quick picture for her contact information. God, she looks absolutely _wrecked_ , her eyes dark, hair mussed, cheeks pink, lips swollen. It’ll be a good reminder for Raven of what happened tonight. “I’m gonna call you later.”

Clarke nods. “Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” It’s her turn to smirk. “I think it’s only fair that I return the favor sometime.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was prompted by an anon on tumblr - i wrote it a little bit ago but only just decided i should probably post it here too. 
> 
> come find me on tumblr - boobmorleys - and tell me what you think!
> 
> i live for comments and kudos. :)


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